“What Happens After You Confess Your Feelings to Someone?” Chapters 1-3
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Chapter 1
More2come81: hey
Simplesnowflake: hey
More2come81: u busy?
Simplesnowflake: not really
More2come81: can we talk?
Simplesnowflake: sure
Mordecai Terhune—a.k.a. More2come81—is the love of my life. And he knows that. One too many late-night phone calls dragged the truth out of me. I’ve never been very good at keeping secrets from the guys I love.
I still remember that day. I could hear his smile through the phone. I could hear the satisfaction in his voice. I could hear his knowing—his knowing that I loved him enough to do just about anything for him, though I told him I only liked him a little. I hate feeling that way—I hate that weakness I can’t control—that uncomfortably transparent emotion. But there’s nothing to be done. Mordecai knows now. And what’s worse, I know he doesn’t feel the same way. I know because he gets a new girlfriend about every two weeks, and that girlfriend is never me.
He tells me he would ask me out if I were allowed to date. I’m a sophomore in high school—fifteen years old—and my parents say I can’t date until I’m a senior. But if he really cared about me, he would wait. Then again, it is high school. Everyone who can date dates. Even most kids who aren’t allowed date secretly. So, I suppose I can’t really blame him for not waiting for me.
I’m a good girl. I intend to follow my parents’ rules. But still, it would be nice if I could forget about him. It would be nice if I could just let him go, at least until I’m allowed to date. But I can’t let go. I can’t forget. And why not? Because Mordecai Terhune is the love of my life.
Tonight is not a school night. That means I’m allowed to stay up as late as I want. And since Mordecai needs to talk, that means I’ll be staying up as late as he wants.
He calls me a few minutes after signing off the instant messaging or IM app that we use. The year is 2005. I don’t have a cellphone, so Mordecai calls me on my house phone. Before he got a cellphone, I called his house so many times that the number is now forever engrained in my memory. I’m still working on getting his cellphone number to that place.
“Hey,” I say when I pick up.
“Hey,” he says. “What’s up?”
“Nothing much.”
“Done all your homework for the weekend?”
I laugh. “Not yet.”
“Uh oh. A little behind, are we? I thought you usually rush through homework on Fridays so you have the rest of the weekend to relax.”
I smile. “Actually, I usually do homework on Saturdays, too. I have a paper I’m planning to write tomorrow.”
“I see,” he says. Brief pause.
“So, how’s April?”
“April?”
“Isn’t that your girlfriend’s name?”
“Oh, you mean Avril.”
“That’s just April in French. She should quit trying to be so fancy.”
“I’ll tell her you said that.”
“Don’t you dare!”
He laughs. His laugh always makes me melt. “I’m just kidding, Chloe.” Shivers when he says my name. “And Avril’s fine.”
“Why aren’t you hanging out with her tonight?” I wonder.
“She’s visiting her aunt in New York this weekend.”
“You could still call her.”
“I decided to call you.”
“Why?”
“’Cause I had a long day, and you always make me feel better after a long day.”
“I should think your girlfriend should be the one to provide that service for you.”
“She provides other services,” he says.
“I imagine she does,” I say, trying not to let images of the two of them together take over my mind. Hold onto your sanity, I tell myself.
“Hey, it’s not what you think. I just mean, I feel differently about her than I do about you.”
“How do you feel about her?”
“I love her.”
“And how do you feel about me?”
He pauses. “You’re my best friend.”
“I thought that was Keith.”
“He’s my best guy friend. You’re my best girl friend.”
“Shouldn’t you be dating your best girl friend?”
“Now why do you want to go and complicate everything, Snowy?”
“I told you not to call me that,” I say, actually thrilled every time he uses that pet name. “It’s Chloe.”
“Then why is your IM name Simplesnowflake, which is actually redundant since snowflakes are already pretty simple?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“Tell me, Chloe.”
“No.”
“Tell me.”
“No.”
“You know you’re going to tell me. You always tell me everything.”
“I do not.”
“Snowy…”
“Ugh, fine. But only if you promise to stop calling me Snowy.”
“I make no such promise.”
I roll my eyes and continue anyway. “Once in first grade, we were making paper snowflakes to decorate our classroom for winter. The first snowflake I made was a mess. It had snips in all the wrong places and was practically falling apart. But just before I started to cry over my obvious failure, my teacher came to me and said, ‘Why not try a simpler snowflake, Chloe?’ And she showed me how to make a nice, simple snowflake with no excessive snips.”
“And so Simplesnowflake was born.”
“Exactly. But it took me a long time to find a good use for it.”
“I think you found an excellent use for it.” He pauses, then says, “Oh, hey, I gotta go. Avril is calling me.”
“Of course. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Later. Wait!”
“What?”
“You still like me, right?”
I sigh. “Yeah, I do.”
“Ok, good. Just checking,” he says. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
I know he’s dating someone else. I know there’s a chance he may never choose me. But this is a good night. This is one of those conversations that will make me smile for days afterwards. The bad conversations I always try to forget as quickly as possible.
I don’t know when I’ll hear from Mordecai again, though I hope it’ll be soon. He doesn’t usually talk to me much while he’s dating someone, which is undoubtedly for the best. Still, I wait all day Saturday to see if he’ll go on IM, but he doesn’t. And he doesn’t call either. There is a bright side to this, though—I’m able to finish my paper without interruptions.
*****
The next day is the same. Mordecai doesn’t go on IM and he doesn’t call. I spend most of the day reading, writing in my journal, and playing a board game with my parents.
My mom and dad—Lucienne and Max Cushing—are both first-generation Haitian immigrants. They came to the US in the early seventies, and now they’re both American citizens and doctors at a hospital.
If you’re wondering why Cushing doesn’t sound much like a Haitian last name, it’s because my paternal grandfather was British. He was on vacation in Haiti when he met my grandmother and fell in love with her. They married, but my grandfather passed away soon after my father was born, leaving my grandmother to raise him with limited resources. She and my dad fled Haiti as soon as they could, as did my mother and her family, whose situation wasn’t much better.
I think my parents complement each other nicely. They’re both more concerned with facts and figures than feelings and other flighty things, but my dad tends to be more rigid than my mom. If I need help solving a complicated math problem, I go to my dad. But if I need compassion because, say, my best friend Krista Hallowell and I just had a fight, I turn to my mom.
But neither of them is much help in the boy department. If I so much as mention a boy in a non-school context, I always get the same response—no boys until senior year. Needless to say, they know nothing about Mordecai. And I’m glad to live in a time when they don’t really understand IM.
Speaking of understanding, I don’t speak or understand French or Creole, though my parents speak both languages fluently. But I’m studying French in school. Soon we’ll be able to speak it together—though, at the rate I’m learning it, probably not very soon.
My dad is relatively short for a man, and my mom is much shorter than him. My height is somewhere between theirs. We all have caramel-colored skin, brown hair, and brown eyes. But while my dad wears his hair natural, as is typical for men with his tight-curled hair texture, my mom and I have perms to straighten our hair. I’ll get into the implications of what that means later. (And, yes, I did mean to say perm.)
That afternoon, my mom, my dad, and I play rounds of chess. I’m not very good at it, but I love playing because I love to see my dad’s genius at work. And I have to admit that, while we’re playing games, I sometimes wonder if someday Mordecai will join us. As of right now, that seems unlikely.
Chapter 2
I don’t ever talk to Mordecai at school. We’re not officially school friends. We’re talk-on-the-phone-and-IM friends. And, anyway, whenever I see him at school, he’s usually with his girlfriend. It’s terrible, I know, but when I talk to him at a distance, it’s easier for me to forget he has a girlfriend. I promise I’m not trying to steal him from her. I just like having him as a friend.
I like talking to him. I like hearing his voice. I like the way he teases me and makes me tell him my secrets. But most of all, I like him—I love him, actually. I just can’t understand why he doesn’t feel the same way about me.
Mordecai is two years older than me, though he’s only one grade above me. I started school early. And because I’m taking the same math as him, sometimes I help him with his math homework. This year we’re both taking precalculus. It’s the toughest math class I’ve taken so far, but I love to be challenged at school—at least in the subjects that interest me.
*****
At lunch that Monday, I walk up to Krista’s and my usual lunch table. It’s a small, square table near the wall of a cafeteria that seats hundreds of students, so we’re free to eat unnoticed. We’re also free to stare at the cool kids and seniors who get the seats of honor on the stage.
Krista and I aren’t anything close to being considered popular. We’re school-focused—the kind of students who always do their homework, who never skip classes, and who try their best not to break any rules. We’re the kind of students the principal never meets but is always proud to have. We’re nerds—nerds of Colva High, a diverse school with about 2,500 students.
Seniors at our school can graduate without meeting half the kids in their class. My first day of freshman year, the thought of seeing all those students in one place was overwhelming. But once you get used to the crowded hallways, you barely notice them.
“Ok, it’s official,” Krista says as I sit down. “I hate divorce. I just do.” Krista is a long-haired brunette with pale skin that’s a testament to how little time she spends in the sun. Whenever she isn’t talking to me or doing homework, she’s reading a book—always inside. Her green eyes are especially full of fire today.
“Actually, I believe you made that official, what, two…no, four weeks ago,” I say as I begin unwrapping my turkey sandwich.
“Hah. Four weeks ago, I knew nothing. Now they’re arguing over who gets me during the week and who gets me over the weekend. They actually flipped a coin over it,” she says, munching on a carrot stick.
“They did not,” I say before biting into my sandwich.
“They did. Now my mom has me during the week, and my dad gets weekends.”
“So, your mom won then,” I clarify. I take another bite.
“No, she lost,” Krista says.
I think about it for a second. Then I say, “Well, I guess they figure weekends are more fun because—”
“Don’t kid yourself, Chloe. The winner got fewer days with me.”
“At least they still remember to pack your lunch.” I take a sip from my water bottle.
“I pack my lunch now, and I make dinner most nights, too. My parents aren’t in any position to make decisions these days—big or small. If it were up to them, I’d starve before they agreed on what to feed me. And they insist on agreeing on every decision that concerns me before they make it. It’s ridiculous.”
“I’m sorry, Krista,” I say, finding those words woefully inadequate to express the support I want to give her.
“As I said, I hate divorce.” I nod, and we focus on our food for a while. Then Krista says, “Sometimes love really hurts. But then, I don’t have to tell you that. How’s Mordecai anyway? Have you talked to him lately?”
“Yeah, I did. This past weekend,” I say.
“How is he?”
“Fine.”
“Is he dating anyone?”
I sigh. “Yep.”
She nods. “Yep. Sometimes love really hurts.”
I nod. “Yeah, sometimes it really does.”
*****
After lunch, I still have NSL—my government class—and I hate having it last since it’s my least favorite subject. All students at our school take seven classes every semester, though we only go to four classes a day. On odd days we have all our odd classes—first, third, fifth, and seventh periods. On even days we have all our even classes, plus fifth period again, and odd and even days rotate. (I have NSL last on odd days.)
We have fifth period every day for half the time of the other classes, and the other half of the time is lunch—split lunch. Since there wouldn’t be enough room in the cafeteria, hallways, and courtyards for all students to have lunch at the same time, half of us have class first, then lunch—Krista and I are in that group—while the other half have lunch then class.
Mordecai and I don’t have the same lunch period, nor do we have any classes together this semester, so we rarely see each other at school. But it wouldn’t matter anyway. As I said, we aren’t really school friends. And that just means it’s easier for me to concentrate on schoolwork while I’m there. Notice I said easier, not easy.
Krista and I take the bus to and from school every day, but not the school bus—a public bus. I’m always sad that my ride is so much shorter than hers. That means we don’t have much time to catch up on school happenings on the way home. But if we really have anything important to share—anything we can’t get through in the ten minutes of our shared ride—we call or IM each other later.
Once home, I prepare myself a snack—usually tea and some sort of dessert. My parents don’t get home until 5:00 pm most days. When they do, my mom cooks dinner while studying articles from work and my dad reads the newspaper. We eat dinner at around 6:00 pm, following which we do the dishes and go our separate ways. On the weekend, my dad bakes something special for the week ahead. Or else he picks something up from the store when he does the groceries.
I eat my snack while starting my homework. If I have a lot, I avoid going on IM until I’ve finished a good portion of it, or else I don’t go on at all. But if I don’t have much, I sign on right away. Our large, gray computer with its even larger, gray monitor is centrally located—in the living room. So, if I’m using the computer, I try to make it look like I’m really working, not just chatting. But since my parents have their own laptops and lives, they rarely pay much attention to what I’m doing.
This Monday afternoon is a light homework day. So, after settling myself down at the computer desk with some tea and a muffin, I turn on the computer and sign on to IM. Krista’s on, but I don’t message her. We already covered all matters of import on the bus. Besides, I’m really hoping to see one specific name online—Mordecai’s. He’s not there, so I focus on my homework. But by the time I’ve finished most of it and am about to sign off, he signs on.
It’s always a huge dilemma for me, deciding whether to IM him first. I think IMing first makes me look desperate—like I’m waiting for him—which, of course, I am, but I don’t want him to know that. But if I don’t IM him first, I risk not talking to him at all. He’s a popular guy, so he doesn’t always IM me when he’s on.
On this particular day, I decide not to IM him. He’s taken Mordecai now, which means it’ll be more painful for me to talk to him than usual. That doesn’t stop me from talking to him if he IMs me first, but it makes it that much harder to be the one to initiate the conversation. Anyway, my decision proves to be a wise one because he signs off soon after signing on. I sign off after him. I’m going to have a precalculus test at the end of the week, so I decide to make trigonometry flash cards.
*****
The next day, when Krista approaches our lunch table, she finds me immersed in rapidly reviewing those cards.
“Sine of 30° is ½,” I say. Next card.
“Cosine of 180° is -1.” Next card.
“Tangent of π/3 is the square root of 3.” Next card.
“Planning to take a break anytime soon?” she asks as she sits and begins unpacking her lunch.
I shake my head. “Test on Friday. Trying to study. Cosecant of 3π/2 is -1.” Next card. “Cotangent of 180° is undefined.” Next card.
“Your test isn’t next period. You still have time to study. Plus, you were studying all morning on the bus.”
I look at her. “I know, but I have to work on an NSL paper today, and those usually take me all day to finish.”
“Don’t tell me that’s due tomorrow.”
I nod. “I’ve been procrastinating. But I think I’ve almost mastered these cards.” I turn back to them. “Tangent of 2π/3 is—”
Suddenly, Krista snatches my cards from me. “Eat first, then study,” she says. “I’ll even quiz you after we’re done if you want.”
I sigh. “Alright, fine,” I say.
She hands my cards back, and I put them away and prepare to eat. And as promised, she quizzes me when we’re done. Truthfully, I’ve long since memorized those cards. But I always like to go into math tests over-prepared so I can finish with enough time to check my work. That’s one of the many things I love about math—you know how you’re going to do before the test is over.
*****
I scramble to finish my NSL essay when I get home, glad that I’ve already done the bulk of the research. I always try to work as hard as I can on those papers because I count on them to save my grade, which tests and pop quizzes always send hurtling into the C region. But because I dislike NSL so much, I usually wait until the day before the essays are due to start writing.
Fortunately for me, writing an NSL paper feels more like writing an English essay, so once I get into it, I forget how boring I find the subject and remember why I love the English language. I’d explain why now, but that would be an essay all its own.
I finish the paper at 9:00 pm. Then I spend an hour reviewing for my math test. Needless to say, I spend zero time on IM that day. I’m looking forward to Friday afternoon for that purpose. But when I’ve handed in the paper and taken my test and when I’m sitting before my computer screen with a cup of tea and a cookie, I’m disappointed to see that Mordecai isn’t on. He doesn’t go online at all that weekend—at least not when I’m on. And so another Mordecai-less weekend passes.
Chapter 3
On Monday, I approach Krista’s and my lunch table and notice that a male stranger is seated in the typically empty seat beside Krista. Both their lunches are unpacked and they’re already eating, so I assume he’s here to stay. The stranger has beige skin, short blond hair, and blue eyes. And though he’s seated, I can tell he’s taller than Mordecai. I always compare new guys to Mordecai. Honestly, this new guy is pretty cute. If I weren’t already taken—in my mind, anyway—I might consider crushing on him.
I put my lunch bag on the table, and they both look at me. “Hey…” I say hesitantly.
“Hey, Chloe. This is Simon Adler,” Krista says.
I sit. “Hey,” Simon Adler greets.
“Hey,” I respond, waiting for more of an introduction.
“Simon’s new,” Krista says. “He and I met in chemistry class, and we haven’t been able to stop talking since.”
“Cool,” I say as I unpack my lunch. “What did you guys spend all that time talking about?”
“Jabon Island,” Simon says.
“Yeah,” Krista says. “I finally found someone who loves the series as much as I do.”
“Thank goodness,” I say. “You’ve saved me from feeling guilty every time I have to make up an excuse not to watch one of the movies with her.” I bite into my sandwich.
“Chloe thinks they’re childish,” Krista tells Simon as she eats some chips.
“No, I just think they’re random,” I say. “I mean, isn’t there like a volcano that spews soap or something?”
“Yeah, but that’s just it,” Simon says. “The two groups on the island—the men, the Jabonites, and the women, the Jabonettes—are constantly feuding over control of the soap volcano. You see, it’s the only source of soap on the island, and—”
I put up my hand to stop him. “Please spare me the details. I tried reading one of the books once, and that was enough for me.” I lower my hand.
“Told you,” Krista says.
“Alright, no fantasy fiction for you,” Simon says, eating a slice of cold pizza. “So, what kind of movies are you into?”
“I like romance. Not like romantic comedy romance because that can be too over-the-top for me. I prefer simple love stories.”
“I see. You sound like my sister,” Simon says.
“Really?” He nods. “Is she younger or older?”
“Older. She’s already in college.”
“That’s cool,” I say. “She has good taste.”
“I’ll tell her you said that.”
“I remember, the day one of those ‘simple love stories’ came out,” Krista begins, “I made the mistake of suggesting we have a Jabon Island movie marathon instead because it was the birthday of one of the lead actors, and I thought it would be a cool way to celebrate.”
“That would have been cool,” Simon agrees.
“Yeah, well, in my mind I was thinking, ‘Soap volcano, war, and violence or beautiful love story with breathtaking scenery?’” I say. “It wasn’t a hard choice to make.” Simon laughs.
“I ended up going with her,” Krista says, “and it actually wasn’t that bad.”
“You mean the parts you were awake for,” I say, laughing.
She shrugs. “What can I say? Nineteenth century romance is just not my cup of tea.” We all laugh. And I know Simon will make the perfect addition to our lunch table—and our lives. But I can’t help but notice that he has this odd habit of glancing at me often while Krista is talking. And yet, his eyes are steadily on me while I talk. Weird.
Toward the end of the conversation, I say, “Oh, Simon. Do you use IM?”
“I do,” he says.
I pull out my planner and open to a random page. I hand it to him along with a pen. “Write down your IM name, and we can chat sometime. I’ll give it to Krista.”
“Sure,” he says, taking the pen and planner.
When Simon finishes writing, he hands me my pen and planner back. Then he pulls out his planner and opens it to a random page. “Could I have your name, too? Just in case,” he says.
“Sure,” I say, taking his planner and writing my IM name on it. Then Krista adds hers to the page, and we are now officially friends.
*****
That evening, I’m in the middle of doing math homework when Simon IMs me. I had intended to add him to my friends list that day, but it just slipped my mind.
Simonsayz32: hey chloe
Simonsayz32: it’s simon from school
Simplesnowflake: hey!
Simplesnowflake: nice to hear from u again
Simonsayz32: u too
Simonsayz32: what r u up to?
Simplesnowflake: math hw
Simonsayz32: what math r u in?
Simplesnowflake: precal
Simonsayz32: what? already?
Simplesnowflake: yeah
Simplesnowflake: it’s really not that big a deal
Simplesnowflake: a lot of sophomores take precal
Simonsayz32: not at my old school
Simonsayz32: they would have considered u some kind of genius
Simplesnowflake: lol
Simplesnowflake: not here
Simonsayz32: what r u working on?
Simplesnowflake: sine, cosine, and tangent
Simonsayz32: whatever that means
Simplesnowflake: u learned that stuff in geometry, remember?
Simplesnowflake: it’s basic trig
Simonsayz32: yeah i didn’t do too good in geometry
Simplesnowflake: sorry
Simonsayz32: but if ur in precal, does that mean ur like an expert in algebra 2?
Simplesnowflake: i wouldn’t say expert…
Simonsayz32: how about this?
Simonsayz32: do u think u’d be able to help someone struggling with algebra 2?
Simplesnowflake: yeah, i could do that
Simonsayz32: someone like me?
Simplesnowflake: lol yeah
Simplesnowflake: anytime u need help just ask me
Simonsayz32: i’m gonna take u up on that
Simplesnowflake: please do
Simonsayz32: alright i g2g
Simonsayz32: ttyl chloe
Simplesnowflake: u too
He signs off, and I keep working on math.
*****
Two days later, Simon accepts my offer to help him with algebra. He shows me a worksheet he got from class, and we work on it in the library after school.
“And so you can just plug the two values you got for x back into the equation,” I say. “If both sides are equal with both x values, you know you got it right.”
“And if they’re not equal?” he wonders.
“Then if you have time, go back and try to find where you made a mistake.”
“And what if I can’t find what I did wrong?”
“Don’t think that way. Think positive. Just work through the problem from the beginning. Most likely you just added something wrong or something simple like that.”
“Yeah, either that or I had no idea what I was doing and have no hope of finding my mistake in time.”
I shake my head in feigned exasperation. When I do, I happen to glance up, and then I see him. Mordecai. Shoulder-length brown hair. Tall, but not too tall. A slight slouch. Pale skin. Gentle gray eyes. I’d know him anywhere and at any angle. He’s checking out a book at the front desk. My eyes freeze on him. I’m so unused to seeing him at school that catching him in the library at the same time I’m there throws off my world.
Simon starts calling me back to consciousness, but it’s not until he begins waving his pencil in front of my face that I remember what I had been doing.
“Chloe, you still there?” he asks.
I look at him. “Huh? Oh, yeah. I’m here,” I say. “Let’s do the next problem.”
“Who was that?”
“Who?”
“That guy you were staring at.”
I sigh and look down at the worksheet. “That was no one. Let’s just get back to math.”
We work for another half-hour before going home. I’m not sure if Simon understands anything I go over with him, but I explain the best I can. I’ll admit, though, I’m not fully there after spotting Mordecai. It’s like a fisherman who’s been telling mermaid tales all his life trying to get back to business after spotting one. Even though Mordecai is real not mythical, sightings of him are just as rare and even more wonderful—and distracting.
*****
That afternoon, I can’t help wanting to share my exciting news with Mordecai himself. He’s online when I sign on, and I take the risk of IMing him first.
Simplesnowflake: i saw u at school today
More2come81: o?
More2come81: where?
Simplesnowflake: the library
Simplesnowflake: after school
More2come81: o yeah
More2come81: i was checking out a book for a history paper
More2come81: y were u there?
Simplesnowflake: i was helping a friend with math hw
More2come81: krista?
Simplesnowflake: no, a different friend
Simplesnowflake: a new friend
More2come81: boy or girl?
Simplesnowflake: what does that matter?
More2come81: it matters
Simplesnowflake: y?
More2come81: just cuz
Simplesnowflake: i’m going to need more of a reason
More2come81: fine
More2come81: don’t tell me
Simplesnowflake: i’ll tell u if u tell me y it matters
More2come81: i’m just wondering if this was really all about hw
More2come81: or if maybe there’s a new guy in ur life
Simplesnowflake: well technically there is a new guy in my life
Simplesnowflake: but he’s just a friend
Simplesnowflake: and we were really in the library just to study math
More2come81: uh huh
More2come81: if u say so
Simplesnowflake: what does it matter to u anyway?
Simplesnowflake: aren’t u with someone right now?
More2come81: kind of
Simplesnowflake: what does kind of mean?
More2come81: we’re in a fight right now
More2come81: i’m not sure how things r gonna turn out
Simplesnowflake: what r u fighting about?
Just then, Simon signs on and IMs me.
Simonsayz32: hey chloe
Simonsayz32: thanks for helping me today
Simonsayz32: i think i’m getting polynomials better now
Simplesnowflake: no problem
I minimize Simon’s window so I can get back to Mordecai.
More2come81: she claims i’m too self-absorbed
More2come81: i think she’s too needy
Simplesnowflake: is this avril we’re talking about?
More2come81: no tanya
More2come81: i broke up with avril last week
Simplesnowflake: i c
Simplesnowflake: well do u think there’s any way u could find a balance?
Simplesnowflake: like maybe u could give a little more and she could demand a little less?
More2come81: try telling her that
More2come81: there’s no reasoning with her
Simplesnowflake: maybe she’s just afraid of losing u
Simplesnowflake: maybe u should try reassuring her that u’re here to stay
More2come81: to stay?
More2come81: u mean like forever?
Simplesnowflake: i don’t know
Simplesnowflake: do u c urself marrying her someday?
More2come81: mm…
More2come81: it’s kinda soon to be thinking about that, don’t u think?
Simplesnowflake: yeah, i guess
Simplesnowflake: but i guess i don’t really c the point in dating if u’re not planning on marrying
More2come81: it’s something to do
Simplesnowflake: if that’s y u’re together, i really don’t c any point in fighting to save ur relationship
More2come81: it’s still a relationship
More2come81: even if it’s not gonna last forever, it’s still worth trying to save it
More2come81: for now
While I’ve been playing counselor to Mordecai, Simon’s message has been flashing nonstop. I open it.
Simonsayz32: so what r u up to rite now?
Simonsayz32: chloe?
Simonsayz32: u busy?
Simplesnowflake: sorry i was a little distracted
Simplesnowflake: i’m just working on some french hw
Simonsayz32: oic
Simonsayz32: that means u probably couldn’t help me with spanish
Simplesnowflake: that’s right
Simplesnowflake: unless u want help from someone who can’t say anything more than hola and buenos dias
Simplesnowflake: oh, and donde esta el telefono publico?
Simonsayz32: lol
Simonsayz32: where did u learn that last one?
Simplesnowflake: i tried to learn spanish when i was a kid
Simplesnowflake: that was the only sentence that stuck
Simonsayz32: well it could be a useful sentence if u ever get lost in a spanish-speaking country
Simplesnowflake: i think so too
Back to Mordecai.
More2come81: u don’t agree?
Simplesnowflake: i just think u should do what makes u happy
Simplesnowflake: if ur girlfriend makes u happy, then find a way to stop fighting
Simplesnowflake: but if u’re not happy, don’t prolong the suffering
Mordecai takes a while to respond, so I use that time to revisit Simon.
Simonsayz32: so y did u pick french?
Simonsayz32: chloe?
Simplesnowflake: sorry
Simplesnowflake: and i don’t really know
Simplesnowflake: i guess maybe because both of my parents speak it
Simonsayz32: that’s kool
Simonsayz32: where r they from?
Suddenly, I hear Mordecai send a few messages in rapid succession. I hurry to open his window, only to see that he has signed off.
More2come81: o sorry chloe
More2come81: i g2g
More2come81: tanya is calling me
More2come81: ttyl
There’s nothing left to do but finish my conversation with Simon.
Simplesnowflake: they’re from haiti
Simplesnowflake: but they’ve been here for a long time
Simonsayz32: that’s kool
Simplesnowflake: anyway i g2g
Simplesnowflake: ttyl simon
Simonsayz32: ok
Simonsayz32: bye chloe
Copyright © 2026
About the Story
“What Happens After You Confess Your Feelings to Someone?” is a YA romance about the highs and lows of high school love. At the beginning, you’ll find yourself in 2005—a time when cellphones were still fairly new on the scene and when social media wasn’t such a big thing.
In this story, Chloe is a studious high school sophomore who finds herself with a big crush on a junior named Mordecai. He claims he would date her if she were allowed to date, but his actions say otherwise. He’s constantly going out with other girls and constantly breaking Chloe’s heart with his indifference to her feelings, even though he already knows she likes him. He just hasn’t said how he feels about her.
But Mordecai has a secret—several, actually—secrets he can only tell Chloe. They’re secrets he carries with him from his troubled past. And she’s the first one he turns to when he needs help.
At the same time, Chloe has a good friend named Simon. He’s a new sophomore at her school, and his love for Chloe is obvious from the start. Simon is the antithesis of Mordecai—generous, reliable, and parent-approved. But Simon’s nice guy ways are lost on Chloe. And it doesn’t help that he struggles to confess his feelings to her.
Senior year is fast approaching, after all—the year Chloe’s parents will finally allow her to date. If she holds on a little longer, Mordecai might seriously consider going out with her. Or will Simon find a way to win her heart in the end?
Find out when you read “What Happens After You Confess Your Feelings to Someone?”
The full story will be available soon via membership. When you subscribe, you’ll have access to the story, which will be told through a series of blog posts and is the length of a YA romance novel. You’ll also be part of the community of other members as you comment on posts and go on the emotional roller coaster ride together. Plus, you’ll be able to access bonus content like deleted scenes, scenes told from other characters’ perspectives, and love poems inspired by the story.
Check back here for updates!